Enthroned of shattered blades
He came ascendant
A figure of faith
The Wolf Father
Eater of light
Breaker of armies
A monument to sin
A page by which we could know
What we'd done
Still they feared him so
The heathen king of rot and blight
Broke himself and gave us light
All is not as it seems.
One small part of a waking dream.
–
Lernin, already a migraine from the late term paperwork, was feeling even worse for wear. A faint knock came at the door. Very few people knocked anymore, it was more of an old custom than a physical movement, there was an intercom and a bell. Who was knocking...?
“Come in. That's a familiar face, but I don't believe I've had the pleasure. O Raven, O Raven. I am a very busy man, and I've no floorboards, how did you even get in here?”
Tiber stared at the man before him. Despite being ten years younger, at least, Lernin's age weighed more heavily than the former. Being the headmaster of such a prestigious academy must be quite the task to have him looking so haggard, being no older than his early 30's. Based on Tiber's data, that is, but those of Amatean ancestry were hard to track these days.
“I walked through the front door.” Tiber replied. “I didn't come here to banter, I came here to warn you.”
“Warn me?” Lernin raised an eyebrow. Knight Commander Tiberius Scarr was Tyr's first guardian, and if their dynamic said anything, like family to the prince. That gave him a certain level of clout, a voice worth listening to, even if one ignored his once-famed reputation as one of the greatest assassins in the history of the now defunct Ordo Sicario. Not a tall man, unassuming of build and wiry, with black hair and a wind beaten face that communicated nothing but experience. Sharp eyed and quick of wit, and by reputation alone his fingers were even faster on the draw of anything with a pointed tip. “Of...?”
Tiber kept it simple, opting not to sit when offered a chair, standing rigid and at attention. “Tyr is in Baccia. By now, he is likely already conversing with Hastur. Amicably, he went there of his own accord to speak with your father.”
A heavy frown turned Lernin's lips. Tyr was not of Amistad, not technically, but being employed at the academy made him a representative of the nation by default. What he'd just done is commit a grave international incident, providing Hastur with the Cassus Belli he'd been looking for all along. The council had been so careful, quietly moving their pieces on the board while Tyr stomped on it and butchered hundreds of men, sometimes in broad daylight. They'd said nothing, because it served their ends and Alexandros dictated that they not, but swaggering boldly into Baccia was another thing entirely. “Alright, Lord Tiberius. Tell me everything.”
Tiber did so, whilst reminding Lernin that he was no lord to any man, but a simple servant to another.
About the compounds, something Lernin was well aware of. What he wasn't, however, was the fact that his father had successfully managed to bind his closest followers to alchemical pseudo-phylacteries. That's what he thought, at least. They'd found the corpses, bodies that looked extremely similar to Tyr Faeron himself, and the implants within their cerebral cortex, an almost scorpion shaped artifact hugging the brain stem. More forbidden magic. It left both himself and the council with a host of questions, some even wished to offer a conditional protectorate status to Baccia should this knowledge be willfully shared.
But there were ethical dilemmas involved that ensured Lernin and his less progressive contemporaries would never consider such a thing.
Did a memory implant truly revive the same person who'd died, or just a copy? Did the soul transmute wholly through the process? None could know without further investigation, and even then grasping at that kind of science in their current capacity was a tall ask. True immortality was at Hastur's fingertips, with none of the foul and inconsistent implications of turning oneself into an undead. And he'd made a great many of these implants somehow. Things their greatest runesmiths could not understand, and that included Valkan. Abaddon still slumbered, but if the Anu couldn't understand it even after it was shared with his clan, it wasn't a great sign.
Like so many forbidden technologies, it had almost assuredly come from the bold faced study of a Black Book. Or several, Lernin had consulted some less reputable contacts of his and none had ever heard of such a thing as anima transferal devices.
“...To talk.” Lernin's brow twisted in both concern and confusion. Anxiety. Tyr's loyalty was to nobody but himself, this was well documented fact, not some theory. Very few people were as selfish as the one time crown prince of Haran. Tyr was a dying man desperate to find a fix to his perceived condition, a few years at best and he'd perish, very few knew this – but Lernin had chanced upon that knowledge by happenstance. And by happenstance, he'd mean that his father had told him, still attempting to convince Lernin to join their side. Not much of a father-son relationship, but there was an interest in using Lernin if only for his intellect, that had to be it, Lernin Casterling was an archmage but he was no fighter.
If Hastur had managed to sway him through his mastery of the arcane...
Hastur was cold, calculative, but ultimately human. He believed what he was doing was right, a very Machiavellian mindset about things. Trying to solve a problem that Amistad had been aware of for some time now. That being the mana pollution, and they'd taken a variety of steps in improving their efficiency. But apparently it wasn't enough, there were too many mages and every time they used magic, it would simply get worse.
Tyr on the other hand didn't seem to care about considering right from wrong, or possessed no ability whatsoever to perceive the gray area between. His conviction had become making a promise in anger and obsessing over it, running through a series of machinations in preparations to make good on an oath. Nothing more.
His motivations for doing things were ambiguous at best, something that could not be divined. An enigma, Morn had given up on trying to understand him. A creature of instinct, incredibly impulsive to the point where there were those that believed his every action was part of some grand scheme, so complex it wouldn't reveal itself until it was done and over with.
Lernin had doubts, of course. Tyr was crafty, cunning, and manipulative – but it was all too random. He'd somehow managed to go through life convincing everyone around him that he was an idiot, even the headmaster himself at one point. Gifted by some divine grace, there was a chance of that, but talent and intellect were not one in the same. Perhaps it was all a string of incredibly good luck.
More doubts. Dancing between whether he agreed the man was an unparalleled genius or not. Tiberius was of the former party, believing Tyr to be fully aware of his actions, simply unwilling to explain this belief.
And then he'd done things, things they'd seen or heard about. Little things at first, bizarre paths taken that should have no connection. Until the connections had been made apparent over time, that is.
Subjugating one of the most dangerous dungeons in his earlier years, permanently sealing it. Whatever he'd done down there, the council had indicated it was one of the greatest mana reactions in the last few centuries. And he'd come out of it all unscathed, appearing just at the right moment to kill a lindwurm by digging himself from the inside of the creatures stomach. Abaddon claimed it coincidence, but Lernin was unsure about that, given all the evidence.
And there was much more besides...
Tyr had managed to awaken hundreds of kobolds into wyrmlings, a force that would later destroy a higher undead with ease and secure the southern border of Haran alongside a vast tribe of similarly awakened hobgoblins. He would create new life through the anima as Solomon once had, a hive-mind organism of incalculable and alien intelligence.
Random? Luck? Those words wouldn't explain the fact that those organisms he'd created, adapting rapidly to Hastur's parasites, releasing spores into the atmosphere that ensured that tactic would never work again. Keeping them all safe for several years. Harmless to living things, deadly to anima constructs. And then, this lifeform had proceeded to systematically annihilate an army of beastkin, hidden in the periphery and in the process of preparing to rebel against Varia.
They'd swallowed Trieste, killing very few in the process, indirectly revealing a ring of black market flesh peddlers and several anti-Pillar cults. Wherever there was magic, the creatures would come – or had in the past. Carefully maintaining their territory and expanding deeper into the earth, acting as a sort of pseudo filter fish. A potential solution for the problem facing the world, considering how they could devour mana with 100% efficiency if given enough time.
Devoured the dimensional barriers blocking the entrance to several resource rich dungeons in Asmon, clearing the way for untold economic development in that nation. Lernin knew of Tyr's vain attempt to hide his familiar relationship with Count Asmongold.
They'd all seen the man refer to the prince on a first name basis, the cheers and waves. That was why he was in Amistad now, or permitted to be, at least. Because some of the council saw him as some kind of inhuman genius, playing chess in the fourth dimension. And he might be... Few knew it, but he had saved the world once before, having a direct influence in awakening two 'oni kijin'. The only race on the planet that could freely interact with deuritium with no side effects.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Coincidence?
Managed to crack the arcanum of Saint Lucian. Woke a god, and by word of Alexandros, had managed to bind the elder nature spirit he'd awoken to him. Enslaving her to his will, somehow, despite being far weaker in comparison. Left shortly thereafter, contenting himself to ignoring the thing he'd wrought and allowing it to run loose.
Inexplicably married and bonded with the arthropodal maxxid Kirk, spawn of the second matriarch and one of the few of their race given rein to leave their kingdom and travel the world. A being of great influence in their isolated society. Pair bonding in maxxid society was incredibly complex and forever, making Tyr the equivalent of a king in one of their largest kingdoms, and according to rumor the matriarch had supported the bonding wholeheartedly.
And at the same time, he'd married Jura An-Farrahk of the Laughing Moon. A slave, previously, but as it would turn out she was the equivalent of a princess in orcish society. Nothing had come of it just yet, but the conclusion of that bond was logical. In the process, he'd sedated the more organized orc population centers and 'The Landing' hadn't happened for the first time in centuries. An annual event where the orcs would attempt to invade the Burgher territories to the west.
Tyr made things that should not exist. Had equipped the Anu with devices that allowed them to use magic as humans did, and had become the first 'human' in history to gain free access to their lands. Called affectionately 'little brother' by that characteristically isolationist race. Lernin wasn't sure if he was intelligent, forward thinking, or something else, but it was all too much to call it a simple coincidence or 'luck'. He'd wanted Tyr for his talent, giving him the mundane task of teaching a combat course in preparation for the inevitable war with the Baccian led coalition.
Tyr was building an army. That's what some said, and it was hard to argue with that logic. People knew, where he walked stories were bound to arise, and if not – the statues and icons built of him and worshiped as a god by the reptilian kobold would.
An incredible diverse and dangerous legion. A force that had Octavian white knuckled on his throne, according to yet more rumor. And if trends could be measured, which they could, the climax to this grand web of seemingly random decisions was rapidly approaching.
For what purpose? Nobody knew, but Amistad wished to form good relations with him whatever happened. Possessed the support of Oresund, and had apparently intimate relations with the great-grandmother of the Ard Ri, the high king of Saorsa.
Intimate relations seeming like a bit of an understatement considering she'd kissed him in full view of the international audience observing the ascendancy trials.
Tyr had lost his right to claim a kingdom. He was heir to nothing, but there was always that chance that he was attempting to conquer one by his own hand. It had happened before, primus' and their children didn't always exist in a state of master and disciple. Haran had been formed from conquest of a son that had turned away from his father, Jartor's great-grandsire long ago.
Random? Almost certainly not. Lernin wished he knew, but everything the man said was so confusing and roundabout.
Random, impulsive, 'stupid'.
Tyr had shown up out of the blue and scored in the top three of the entire academy, and only because he had trouble understanding Imperial mathematical formulae. In almost every other subject, he had achieved a perfect score to tie Alexis Goldmane, another of his associates who was displaying phenomenal power for one so young. Phenomenal power as in her being one of the greatest mages in the modern era, considering her level of experience. Currently, she was rapidly coming to a point where most battlemages at Kael Emberwind's level would consider her a fair opponent. It was only a matter of time before she was named an archmage, and likely the youngest in recent memory.
Astrid Stalvarg, too. Both married to him – lending some credence to the fact that Jartor was behind all of this, if not his son. But Lernin didn't buy that either, it seemed like more smoke and mirrors. He highly doubted that primus would enable his son to conquer his own, independent kingdom. By all measures, they didn't have the best relationship. Tyr had tried to kill his father multiple times, and vice versa. This wasn't a rumor whispered about in court, Jartor himself had loudly bragged of this fact for all listeners when intoxicated at the trials.
'My son shattered my face!'
They had a bizarre dynamic, whatever it was, and like everything involving the young man, perception changed too rapidly to make a proper observation. There were other whispers, too, the council considering turning him over to other authorities. Duplicity went both ways, and Amistad had long reigned as a free nation, they would not accept a king even if said king game at the head of a horde of monsters.
Tyr's only real problem was that he lacked experience with the minutia of magic, but he didn't need it because he didn't use human magic in the first place. From an academic standpoint, he was brilliant, and not at all arrogant about it as others were. Not competitive, either. A perfectionist who's only true perceived rival was himself. It didn't help that he was almost assuredly insane, but nobody actually knew if that was true either, or just another act.
The supreme manipulator, if Tyr Faeron had a special talent above all others – it was convincing people to underestimate him.
“We can talk. But tell me truthfully, Lord Tiberius, does Tyr plan to ally with Baccia?”
“Not a lord anymore, as I said.” Tiber said with a grimace. “Just a knight. Sir is fine, or you can call me Tiber. I do not care for title or custom at this point in my life. As for 'allying Baccia', you are a fool if you think Tyr would ever do so. He will fight and die for you, this is all part of his plan – I'm sure of it. He must seem slow witted to you, but I've mentored him for near two decades now, he was always vicious about those things that interested him.”
He's loyal to the boy. Lernin nodded, knowing Tiberius would never sell out his master. There was a quality in certain men, even unremarkable individuals with their lack of magic, that transcended the reason of common men. Faith, loyalty, honor. Some had it, some didn't. Few mages did, theirs was a vocation of avarice and all sorts of synonymous vice. “Please elaborate on why you seem so sure of that.”
“I have personally known Tyr to swear solemn vengeance on three occasions in his life. I have borne oath-witness to all of them. The first, I cannot speak on, as I have sworn not to. The second was to kill everyone that had a part in the apparent death of his mother. A task which he finally completed, based on what I've heard through my contacts, six years after he gave the oath. Through one channel or another, everyone in connection to that event is now dead. Eight hundred and forty eight men. I know, because I had a hand in achieving the feat, and even to this day – knowing she is alive – I believe he is still waiting for more to surface.”
“The third, and last, was an oath of vengeance against your father.” Tiber said. “Tyr is many things. But when he says he will do something, he does it. He will claw obsessively at a task until his nails are torn free and his fingers are nubs of bone. Because he can. He gives no consideration to the pain. Doesn't feel remorse, and his fears are few if there are any true fears in him at all. He will not stop, ever, until the one he sees as his enemy is dust. Everything he has done even before his adulthood has been in approach of this goal. Nearly every waking moment, with few lapses in between. He will not ally with the Baccian's. One way or another, he will kill that man. I have known many killers in my life, but I have never known a man like him, and I don't think anyone ever has. For good or ill, he is my primus, my family, and my greatest joy.”
My greatest regret.
Lernin shivered. It was inhuman, to be a machine of...
“What is he?” He asked. “I favor the boy, I do. I like him because he is a symbol that humanity isn't as stagnant as I once believed it to be. Because when I ask him to share, he does, and I believe he is honest in most of our conversations. Even then, he doesn't lie, simply telling me that I cannot know a thing. In summary, I simply want to know if we are in danger.”
“I don't know.” Tiber shrugged. “I have seen much, heard much. I don't care if he is a god, a monster, some demon, or a true primus. I love him, and I would die for him. Tyr is justice. There is so much wrong with this world and while he does not love as humans do, he hates wrongness many times more fiercely. He sees one, and he corrects it. Slavery, poverty, inequity. Even if his methods and therefore the result isn't perfect, he tries while many cower behind wealth and influence. He will not turn on Amistad without reason, and I'll tell you out of respect for your position that you should labor at all costs to ensure he does not.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Yes.” Tiber replied calmly. “A threat, and a promise. Tyr will wipe this city from the face of all maps by one means or another if you give him reason to. He may not come for you directly, but identifying yourself as an enemy to a primus who obeys none of the old agreements, because he did not make them himself, would be your greatest folly. If not, keep in mind that I am quite the mage slayer myself.”
“Fair advice.” Lernin sighed, leaning back in his chair. Realizing he hadn't opted to rise and offer what could very well be the right hand of Tyr proper respect. But Tiber wasn't concerned. In fact, during their conversation he'd grown tired of standing and marched through Lernin's office like he owned the place, lounging in the stuffed armchair present and resting his feet on the headmasters desk. Even Kael wouldn't have been so bold, which was saying quite a bit. Tiber felt younger, and started to act like it these days, amusing himself with the idea that he might return to the cocksure man he once was in the past. “Do you mind if I ask why you are not at the side of your charge? Are you not oath bound to guide and protect him?”
Tiber laughed at that. His grim expression splitting to reveal a bitter, dark handsomeness. “When Tyr says he is going to do something, he does it. I have argued with him, lectured him, even beaten him with my own hand – and that part of him has never changed. Since he was a child he's been like this. Tyr learns only through personal experience, not instruction. He will do, see, feel, and become more than he was before. Thus, I feel obligated to let him to roam alone as I did when I was Sicario. And it's worked. He is less angry, less prone to lashing out, and more mature. Ready to listen to others where before he would have ignored or perhaps even struck them. He is better in near all ways, and he hasn't disappointed me at any point in my entire relationship with him, he adapts and overcomes.”
“Understood.” Lernin said. “Then let me ask you this... If you were in my shoes, what would you do?”
“Not my decision, and it might not even by his.” Tiber shrugged. “Man's got wives, it'll be theirs. I would, however, position your pieces on the northern border. Baccia will not attack from the west, the terrain favors your mages too much. The Brotherhood will come first, and they'll come from the forests. But in all honesty, I highly doubt either will attack at all, it'll be the church. They'll find a reason.”
“How do you know that?” Lernin raised an eyebrow.
“Man just knows.” Tiber glared back at him, he was a dark one but easy to speak with, eloquent and open with his words. Lernin observed that he liked the bluntness, if not the obvious lack of respect. But Sicario had always hated mages, that was their shtick. The Watchers in the dark, believing that magical society should be torn down, people still feared them even after their order had been dissolved. “It's all about who you know. Tyr does what he's good at, and I do the same to serve as best I can. I have done much for him and for now that means doing much for you. When it comes, we'll be ready – but for your sake I'd hope it is only Baccian and Brotherhood forces, they would be easily dealt with.”
They did not speak for much longer. Tiber was a simple man and always had been. It was astonishing how efficient an exchange could be when you left out all of the 'milords' and 'milady's'. The last thing he did was enter Tyr's room with the key he'd been given, swallowing the pill the man had offered him so long ago.
Slow, Tyr had claimed there was no such thing as a sudden apotheosis. Corruption ran slow in all things, as did a blessing depending on one's perspective. Slow, but gradual, they would all be born anew – ready for the end steadily marching towards them on boots of black.